


Tripwire

by BlanketFortAvenger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Complete, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M, No Smut, POV Alternating, Red String of Fate, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Stiles Stilinski is Eighteen Years Old, Summary may change, Tags May Change, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, Werewolf Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 11:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13680744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlanketFortAvenger/pseuds/BlanketFortAvenger
Summary: It’s Stiles’ first Valentine's since turning eighteen, and he can see his string. It’s Peter’s first Valentine’s, since the fire, that he’s been both conscious and alive. Neither can be blamed for getting a little caught up in the day, nor for falling.





	1. Chapter 1

Sitting in a dim room in the stillness of night, a minute to midnight, was a very unexpected thing. Peter waits patiently in the library, pretending to read by the low, lamp light. His eyes flicker occasionally to the clock, but it refuses to chime the new hour. He re-reads the same line, before looking back to the clock. Peter doesn’t want to admit that he’s been waiting, but anyone who’s met Peter knows how long it’s been - seven years. Anyone who knows Peter would know it’s been longer - his whole life. The thing that was unexpected, sitting in the dim room, sitting heavily in his chest – was hope.

The clock gives a feeble chime, utterly helpless in dissipating the tension. Peter places his book down beside him and brings his hand up to his face. There’s nothing, but he can wait just a moment longer. A shimmer of red, and Peter holds his breath. The shimmer runs through the air, as if light glinting off a thin wire; the only indication that it’s there, but soon Peter can feel it. There’s a light tug, and the red shimmers into being. A neat lasso tied to his little finger. Peter let’s all the air rush from his lungs, as the rest of the string begins to fabricate itself before his eyes. It’s pulled taught toward the open doorway, and Peter stands abruptly, lurching forward to follow. If only he could move faster, but at least he can move at all, he thinks. Peter makes it two strides across the room, before he’s tipping forward, the polished concrete is hard and subtly painful, below his cheek. Peter twists, looking down to his ankle, where the red string is tangled around multiple times. Peter pulls himself off the floor slowly, as the air alights with glistening lengths of red. He turns slowly to look about the room, as red runs around, over, along, and through, his string shimmering as it fills the space. Yards translates to years. Peter snarls viciously and does the only thing he can to lessen the time, he starts ravelling.

 

Stiles doesn’t have time to be humouring the Alpha, but it’s too late, he’d already answered his phone.

“If you were busy ravelling, then you wouldn’t have answered,” Derek growls, and Stiles concedes that the sour-wolf has a point. Stiles doesn’t point out that Derek isn’t ravelling either, doesn’t pry into yet another reason the wolf is the way he is.

“Fine,” Stiles mutters. “I’ll be over in an hour.” The red-string tugs harshly on his pinkie, jolting his phone, as if opposed to being ignored. Stiles hears a loud crash on the other end of the line.

“What is wrong with you?” Derek yells, but his voice is far enough away that he mustn’t be speaking to Stiles. There’s no reply that Stiles can hear. Derek growls in annoyance. “Be here in fifteen.”

“Not likely,” Stiles sighs, looking down at the mess of tangled string he’d accumulated around his limbs, but it’s too late, the line’s already gone dead.

That morning, Stiles had woken to the web of red that had been spun around him. At first, he’d thought hard to remember the project that had caused such chaos. The room was a casualty, the walls strung together with string. He follows no one particular thread to the calendar, pinned to his wall. February 14th is circled manically in marker, and realisation fights its way through the fog in his groggy mind. His first Valentine’s since turning eighteen, Stiles lets his eyes fall to one end of the string, tied in a neat knot around his little finger. It's exactly like the kind he uses to wrap little nooses around the heads of push-pins in his cork-board. Red for unsolved.

The string is meant to lead him to his soulmate. A clean, singular strand strung between two people in something that can loosely be considered a vector; Stiles’ string is less straight than he is. When he looks out his bedroom window, Stiles can see it crisscrossing across the street, and all through the neighbours rose bushes.

After detangling his limbs, showering, and grabbing some toast, Stiles is on his way to Derek’s apartment. While driving the now familiar route, Stiles takes the chance to map just how much his thread is woven throughout the town. It looks like he’s unravelled his mind across all of Beacon Hills. He can only hope it’s not the same for outside the city limits. Briefly, he imagines the entire world covered in his string, like a giant ball of wool in space. Stiles yells in unintelligible distress. There’s no way he’ll be able to ravel it in the remaining 14-hours; he’ll be spooling thread for the rest of his Valentine’s Days. Stiles wonders if he's ever going to untangle it all; if he's ever going to find the other end.

“You’re late,” Derek growls, when he answers the door, and Stiles is about to snark back when red catches his eye. The whole inside of Derek’s apartment is tangled up in his string, and Stiles groans. Stiles nearly hadn’t even made it out of his own home, when he’d almost tripped down the stairs. Navigating through the rooms in the loft without looking completely insane to Derek would be near impossible. There’s even a couple threads strung over Derek’s shoulder, and forgetting that the alpha cannot feel, nor see them, Stiles reaches out to pluck them off, one by one. When he’s done, Derek is left starring at him, offended and a little fazed.

“Uh, you had something, never mind.” Stiles grimaces, pushing past Derek into the loft. “So, where is he? Is he safe?”

“He’s acting strange, but I don’t think he’s dangerous. He won’t talk to me,” Derek supplies. That hadn’t been what Stiles had meant. At least Derek’s casual answer had subdued some of his concern for Peter’s wellbeing.

“What makes you think he’ll talk to me?” Stiles parries. Derek simply looks at him, clearly unimpressed. Underneath, Stiles can see an impatient worry, and sighing he decides to show mercy. At least Peter is a better conversationalist than his nephew. Stiles calls out to the apartment at large. “Peter? Talk to me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Peter curses under his breath, all without pausing in his haste to ravel more of the string. He doesn’t have time to be entertaining, even if it is his favourite.

“Stiles?” he calls, trying to sound nonchalant, like the young man’s visit is a happy surprise, but he ends up voicing a little more of his surprise. Stiles finds him in the living room. Peter had managed to make his way through three-quarters of the apartment, but the rest, including this room, was still tangled in string. As Stiles enters, he lets his hands fall to his sides, and sits on the arm of the settee, in order to appear settled. In honesty, Peter is too afraid to move without his full focus on the whereabouts of his string. He’s tripped more than once in the last ten hours; werewolf agility and reaction time be damned. He was no match for the strings. More importantly, having to step over, or awkwardly duck under something invisible was no doubt the reason his nephew had called for Stiles in the first place. Peter didn’t want to telegraph just how hopeless his situation was, let alone appear insane. Well, more insane than Stiles had previously witnessed. He didn’t want anyone to know how ill-fated his string was, even if he did trust Stiles now, if no one else.

“Shouldn’t you be out ravelling?” Peter asks, as Stiles leans against the door frame, folding his arms. The young man looks distracted, but he’s still offering Peter the majority of his attention, he admires that. The teen is unfocussed on the best of days, but he always manages to pull the most fascinating of his thoughts together for Peter.

“I could ask the same.” Stiles deflects, and Peter grows more curious. The boy has just turned eighteen, his soulmate could be younger, Peter only hopes that the teen doesn’t have to wait too long. “It’s too late to start now anyway…” Stiles murmurs and Peter’s curiosity is revived. “…Derek’s worried about you, should I be?”

“What do you mean, too late?” Peter avoids the question, while resolving not to let Stiles do the same. Stiles sighs, closing his eyes, before barely elaborating.

“I’m in no rush, not when today won’t make any difference.” Peter frowns, had Stiles already learned that his soulmate was some distance away? It was no excuse not to cover as much of that distance as possible. Peter doesn’t want to, but if it’ll change the young man’s mind, then he’ll talk. Stiles deserves to find his soulmate, Peter wants him to be happy as soon as possible.

“Stiles, I have been ravelling since midnight. This is the first time I’ve seen my string. It wasn’t visible to me before the fire...” He begins, and Stiles raises his head in surprise. Peter rarely speaks of before, and given the circumstances, he preferred to avoid so much of the after as well. “…and after, I spent six years not truly seeing anything, and last Valentine’s I was dead.” Stiles cringes, and Peter doesn’t feel vindicated, only pleased that Stiles now values him enough to feel disgust at the incident. Not remorse, or guilt, Stiles still knows that Peter deserved what he got, and Peter does too.

“Peter…” The word is soft, not pity, maybe comfort, but Peter doesn’t let him continue.

“My soulmate might have been waiting for seven years now. I’ll do everything in my power to keep them from waiting any longer.” Stiles is shocked at Peter’s sudden, selfless declaration. Of course, if Peter would think of anyone before himself, it was his soulmate - and maybe for members he truly considered pack. So far, it’s only the young man before him. “It’s never too late.”

 

“You’re right...” The guilt begins to gnaw at Stiles. Not for his part in Peter’s suffering, but for dismissing his own Valentine’s time so casually, fate knows how much ravelling he has to do. Sure, meeting your soulmate was inevitable, but Stiles’ soulmate could have been waiting years already. Still, Stiles has always had an insistent urge to take care of his own. “…but I’m not leaving here, until you tell me that you’re okay.” Stiles can feel his blush, but it’s quickly forgotten when he takes to memorising Peter’s soft, answering smile.

“I’m fine, Stiles,” Peter affirms, taking a step toward him, and swiftly disappearing from sight.

“Woah.” Stiles staggers back, as Peter hits the floor at his feet. Peter growls, frustration and anger making him shift, as he pounces to his feet. Stiles takes in the red wrapped around the werewolf’s legs. “Peter, you just tripped over…”

“All damn morning!” Peter yells sharply, and Stiles is too stunned to speak, except then, Peter goes to grab handfuls of his string. Stiles foresees the repercussions, much faster than he recognises the significance.

“Peter, wait!” Too late – Peter yanks.

Stiles is strung up so fast, he doesn’t even feel his feet leave the ground. He’s suspended almost six-foot off the concrete floors, string wrapped around him; Peter’s shocked expression is the wrong-side up.

“You…”

“Don’t you dare let go of that string,” Stiles squeaks, as he sways slightly. To anyone else, it must look like a scene from The Exorcist.

“Stiles…” Peter breathes, and Stiles laughs. Peter’s looking at him with an open, honest expression of happy surprise, but with a little more happiness.

“Good news is, your soulmate hasn’t been waiting all that long.” Stiles snickers. Peter grins, carefully stepping over the threads this time. Pulling the strings tighter, each time he stalks closer, to keep Stiles suspended. He takes a moment to run his eyes over all the strings.

“Tied-up is a good look for you.” Peter leers. Stiles shivers, and his cheeks redden.

“Well, head-over-heels looks ridiculous on you,” Stiles chuckles smugly, knowing full-well the truth behind his words.

“You can’t speak, sweetheart,” Peter hums. Stiles laughs again, before growing a little more solemn.

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” he mutters, though it’s sincere. The young man is distracted again, but it seems to be Peter who’s distracted him. Peter looks into his amber eyes and can’t find any fault. Stiles had chosen him, even over his soulmate; that’s a tie worth more than any string, fated, or not. Peter knows he would have done the same for Stiles.

“It was worth the wait.” Stiles’ face is flushed, from gravity, or a blush Peter isn’t sure. He looks at the sweet smile on Stiles’ lips and leans closer. Stiles whispers,

“Spiderman-kiss me.” Peter snorts. “Quick, all the blood is draining to my head.” Stiles is grinning so widely, Peter simply has to lean in and oblige. When he pulls away, Stiles is looking rather dazed. “I’m so lucky you tripped.”

“I’d fall for you anytime.” Peter whispers, a little breathless. This time, as Peter lowers Stiles into his arms, Stiles kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, you are all my Valentines now. Have a happy Valentine's Day, and thank you for reading.
> 
> For those waiting for Hug Wolf Moon, I'm sorry, but I made this fic a priority. I promise it'll be the next thing I upload. 
> 
> I'd like to acknowledge that I don't own any of the characters mentioned.


End file.
